Flaming Shadows
by Vixen2004
Summary: So I'm an ex-villain who nearly lost his soul and killed his best friend, and he's the oversized rodent that acts like a walking advertisment for Prozac. And how do you become friends with a mouse, anyway? ... I'm beginning to see why my mom drank.
1. Chapter One

o-o-o-o

Author's Note

o-o-o-o

Yeah. I totally just deleted fifteen chapters of Riku-Bishie-Ness and appear to have eighty five reviews for one chapter. Not the case. Those are eighty something reviews for this story (Flaming Shadows) as a total, as it were posted approximately five years ago before the release of KH:COM in the United States (oh, but we had a screen shot of Axel then, did we not? So yes, all was well.) People are probably wondering what I'm doing with this. Well, at the prodding of CrimsonEyedAngel99 I have been propelled to rip this story down and start anew. Let's face it: anything you write five years ago isn't going to pull its own weight in steaming turd in your current eyes. So I'm going back and revamping this thing once and for all. The plot will remain the same, but it will be elaborated upon greatly, as will the chapters. I plan on combining most of them so I can add totally new content to the others. Mhmm. I can't promise this will be a speedy endeavor, but this is the only hope I have at ever finishing this thing, since currently I can't even look at my previous work without wanting to inadvertently gag on a part of myself. I'm sure you all feel the same. So enough with the exposition you all probably skipped anyway. Onto the story.

o-o-o-o

A Note For New Comers:

o-o-o-o

This should be read as an alternate KHII/KH:COM. I devised this story, like I said, before the GBA mini sequel came out, knowing nothing of the future plot held in the confines of the continuous games. So of course the continuities are going to be screwed. But, hey, who doesn't like reading an AU that isn't set against a high school backdrop of angst and sex for a change? My point exactly.

o-o-o-o

Chapter One

o-o-o-o

Because, ya know, getting stuck with a prepubescent rat was always on my list of top ten things to do before I die.

Especially one as gender confused and sadomasochistic as this one. I swear to all that is holy, even Sora's voice didn't crack this much when he went through the inevitable stages of puberty. And his vocal altercations were drastic enough to constitute as their own marching brass band.

But the tone that was resonating through out the dank caverns I currently found myself situated in was nothing short of feminine, let alone authoritative and monarchistic. Nothing with a scrotum should be able to hit notes as high as he was. I momentarily wondered if he sat when he took a leak.

"Well, it looks like we've got our work cut out for us, now doesn't it?"

I believe I offered up something deftly intelligent like: "Huh?"

Yes. Angst at its best. That would be me.

I had just gotten done basically committing suicide—never mind how many flashy lights and pyrotechnics ensued, when stripped of all the hoopla and shazam I was still just doing away with myself, albeit it _was_ to save all of mankind as we know it—and conversing with prozac induced, vertically challenged rodents was not on the front runner of my mind.

It was like I had just put a gun in my mouth and blasted my brains out, only to wake up on a stretcher in the ER saying to myself, 'Well, damn, that didn't work.'

As far as I was concerned, I was supposed to be _dead_.

That's what I signed up for.

Not this ring-a-de-doo let's go save the word and be self sacrificial heroes bit.

And now, all of the sudden, I was tossed into the throes of epic battle number one hundred seventy five, fighting for my life against the onslaught of Heartless that were ruthlessly making their way towards us in the encroaching darkness.

I could barely make out their forms, but I was able to see their distinguished, trade mark neon eyes glistening in the far off caves surrounding us. A silhouette of a rodent with ears five times too large for his head and a nose that looked like a giant peninsula stood before me, wielding a golden, luminescent keyblade while donning the most revolting expression of encouragement I had ever witnessed.

I had just killed myself, okay? I was not in the mood for happy.

"Those are bad guys," the figure indicated with a jab. "They are trying to kill us."

"...I'm aware of that," I dead panned.

It was like I was the dinky motor boat whose engine had just failed and the rodent was trying helplessly to start me up again.

It would take a professionally trained therapist and about three shots of vodka before any of that happened. My companion wasn't qualified for either.

The rodent—rat?—seeing that I was capable of conversing, and therefore by all logic should also be capable of movement and sparring, sprang into the air, one arm outstretched towards the heavens, wildly exclaiming, "Then let's go kick some Heartless butt!"

"Yes, let's."

Oh. Gods. Leave it to me to screw up dying.

So as I stood there, in a hypnotic like stupor, I slowly began to realize the gravity of what I had just done. Adrenaline can make you do the damnest things. Since when did I ever get off on stealing the show and saving the day? Not to say, if given the opportunity, I wouldn't do the exact same thing again—though knowing I would survive the entire ordeal would shed a whole new light on things I'm not too sure I'd want shedding. And now here I was, stuck in only gods know what along side of only gods know _who_, and I may very well never see the light of day again; let alone Kairi. And isn't she the reason you got caught up in this mess to begin with? Sell your soul for the girl and then sell the girl to the boy. Someone explain the logic in that, please. Someone explain my screwed up, eternally demented logic. Because I'm not seeing it.

And—gods—_I'm still alive_.

So. Here is what happens when someone realizes that they may very well have just resigned to a fate worst than death; hell on earth and eternity with a hormonally deficient rodent of super deformed proportions. First, you take hold of the closest blunt object you can find. Second, you start to swing at anything and everything that has a face and therefore reminds you of Sora. Third, you let out a very masculine battle cry from the depths of your soul, loud enough to be compared to a sonic boom and tormented enough to rival an Edgar Allan Poe death scene. Follow up with mindlessly hacking at all who oppose you, even in large numbers, and continue to do so until you can no longer get air in your lungs to sustain life as you currently know it (which, given the current situation, may consequently lead to death and therefore reprieve. But let's not forget who screwed up dying the first time. For all I know, had I intentionally suffocated myself, I may have very well ended up in the Underworld with Hades looming over me going, 'Well kiddo, guess what? You fucked it up again.')

My counterpart had gone silent as I massacred everything within a three mile proximity. It was like he was going into a state of traumatic shock, as if my violence was too much for him to bare. Something beyond comprehension. You know what's beyond comprehension? Surviving your own suicide. _That_ is what's beyond comprehension.

"How...how could you do that?" came the inquisition from the darkness.

I stood panting heavily and retching something terrible.

"Easy," I spat out. "I've got balls. Try using yours sometime."

The rat seemed taken aback by my crude vernacular, but really, pleasantries were the last thing on my mind. You try kissing goodbye to life as you know it and then being cordial. With mammals, no less.

After I had finished up my blood bath, which really isn't accurate seeing as though Heartless don't exactly bleed, they just pool out torrents of inky blackness in the stead of bodily fluids, which makes me wonder what the hell comes out when they go to the bathroom, and then evaporate into the surrounding air. But, for all purposes notwithstanding, and simply because I want to sound like a man, let's use the term blood bath and pretend we're none the wiser. So. After I finished up with the blood bath my attention was brought to one lone Heartless that was left cowarding in the far corner, knees bent up to its indefinable face as it sat curled in the fetal position whimpering like a recently kicked puppy.

The Squeaky One went over with his keyblade dangling lifelessly at his side.

"Don't worry little guy, this will be over in a minute."

"Wait," I proffered, swaggering over to where the midget was residing. "Don't kill that one just yet."

My newfound companion looked at me.

"We need light," I reminded him flatly, utilizing my callused index to point at the Heartless in question. "And those give off light." I was, of course, referring to his eyes, but I didn't feel the need to specify such. In retrospect, it wouldn't have done much good anyhow.

There was a moment of respective silence as the rodent stood there and absorbed this apparently very deep and thoughtful declaration.

"Oh. Okay!" he threw out in cheery amusement. He turned his colossal head back to the last remaining creature. "Would you like to join our party?"

I think I literally heard my brain break. No, really. It was audible.

"He's the enemy," I reminded tartly.

More pausing.

"So, then what do you propose we do?"

I expelled a tired, mangled sigh.

"Gimme the kitchen utensil," I ordered, waving my hand impatiently.

"Huh?"

"The key," I quipped. "The god damn key."

The prepubescent animal wrinkled his face up in response. "You can't wield the Keyblade!"

"Like hell I can't."

I then lunched for the metallic hilt of his sword with all the zest and vigor of a bully stealing the lunch money from the local school house nerd. It then inexplicably dissipated into the dankness surrounding us, vanishing within the blink of an eye.

"I just can not _win_ today!" I snarled, animalistic and unbecoming, I'm sure.

"Told you so," the deformed monarch muttered, sticking his pale tongue out for emphasis.

He so did not do that.

No, he did. He really did. And what are we, four?

"So you didn't use anything _else_ to kill the Heartless?" I queried, lusting for a weapon of some kind. Brute strength can only get you so far. Unless you're Wakka. Because he just face plows everything with his head.

(Ugh. Wakka. I never got to say good bye to that little red haired booger, now did I? Which is annoying, because that loser owed me money.)

"Kill?!" came a scream of horror. "I didn't _kill_ anybody!"

I arched an eyebrow in skeptical response.

"Well then enlighten me, your Highness."

"I simply knocked them out!"

Oh hell. I'm stuck with a bleeding heart liberal. Stupid pacifistic furball.

"And how did you go about 'knocking them out'?"

The last part of that sentence was performed with the utmost mockery but the pipsqueak was either too dense or too oblivious to realize it.

"I hit them."

I remained silent.

"Hard."

"So you beat them up?" I prompted, teeth clenched in my patent snarl that, if nothing else, showed off my incisors quite nicely. At least those braces my mom had to pick up a second job for weren't a total waste. Even if I did try to continuously rip them off with a spoon on more than one occasion. Hell. No wonder she drank.

It was at this moment the aforementioned Heartless finally decided that perhaps it could sneak away. It was, of course, terribly wrong, for I didn't even so much as flinch as I deftly swung out my left arm and snagged the little demon minion by its black, lanky neck. I heard strange gurgling noises originating from its mouth—I mean, oral orifice—upon contact but thought nothing of it.

"I knocked them out," my temporary partner insisted.

"It's the same thing."

"No, it's not. Beat them up sounds much more violent."

And yes, we actually argued over this.

It was a sign of things to come. I don't think we could settle upon where to squat down and take a crap back in the day. Everything was the cause of a heated debate. Even defecating.

"Alright. We either end this dispute _my_ way or we stand here and argue over it until kingdom come and your knocked out little friends will come back a lot more pissed off then before."

There was no response, so I took that as a silent agreement. Words are overrated anyway.

I then decided to follow up on my original idea of dislocation and promptly grabbed the nondescript Heartless by the back of the head and gave its skull a good _whack_ against my outstretched hand. I smirked, privately enjoying my sadistic mirth, and watched victoriously as two yellow, glowing eyeballs rolled out of their corresponding sockets and into my anxiously awaiting palm.

And cue a strange hellish hybrid of a squeak and a squeal originating from the lips of my now emotionally damaged crony as he witnessed my display of problem solving tactics. The color drained from his face as he stood there slack jawed, eyed rimmed with saline. I breezed past him with the suggestion of mercy killing but he didn't partake.

The rat seemed to go into a state of traumatic shock upon seeing the feat first hand and was unable to move or communicate for the next six hours. I was torn whether to abandon him and let him fend for himself in the long days to come or grab him by the collar and pull him along for the ride. My conscious got the best of me and I blindly groped for his massively over grown hand and led him, silently, further into the cavern labyrinth from hell.

o-o-o-o

I don't do conversations with resident mutes.

Which was all my companion was right now.

So instead of talking, I resorted to my second favorite past time, besides killings things, that is. Fuming. And lemme tell you, there's always plenty to fume about when you very nearly just destroyed the world, lost your potential girlfriend to your so called best friend, attempted (and failed) at committing suicide, and now have to decide what the hell you're gonna do with the rest of your life if you're forced to spend it with this annoying pest problem.

And me, without my Rancid.

Regardless, I commenced with trying to rerun the last day's events through my chaos ridden mind. There wasn't much to tell, really. Kairi got into trouble. Deadly trouble. I basically sell my soul and any other vital organs to that she-beast Maleficent in hopes of saving the one person who matters most. Somehow I lose track of the boundaries and cross over to the dark side, all the while bated with the promise of Kairi's salvation, mind you. Anyone with half a brain cell would do the same (which is ironic, because Sora _does_ have half a brain cell and he _didn't_ do the same.) Then Sora McGoodieTwoShoes decides to swoop in with an overgrown house key and two anthropomorphic animal buddies preaching sugar and saccharine and Sunday School for all who care to hear. May I point out that he was the one who, while he apparently has a heart of frickin fourteen karate gold, wasn't willing to give his soul to save the damsel in distress? What, was she not worth it or something? Regardless, he does some fancy dance thing with the keyblade (which is just the cyanide in the icing that is on the cake because that stupid thing was supposed to be _mine_) and somehow the day ends with me locking myself in some dungeon hell to save the world and Sora leaving with the fair maiden. Oh, and delusional Ansem was defeated somewhere in there, too. Pity I didn't partake in that. A villain who thrives off adolescent boys who are on the verge of a romance with a childhood sweetheart and uses that innocence to their advantage and consequently makes the whole galaxy presume said adolescent boy is the bad guy in the picture is about two balls short of a scrotum. _Of course_ I was going to do whatever they told me. They dangled Kairi's lifeless, limp corpse in my face every time I faltered. And what did Sora get to look at, I wonder? A dog and a duck. What the hell.

So maybe, _maybe_ there was a very small portion of me that initially wandered into the darkness because I was slightly, _slightly_ bored on my idyllic backdrop of an island with only the yammering chat of the resident idiots to keep me occupied—save Kairi, of course, but she actually tried to excel at school, something I had given up on long ago, say back when I was in kindergarten (I could never build a damn sand castle) so our scheduled free times were always varied and altered and I was usually left at the mercy of Tidus or Selphie or some other social retard with more teeth than brain cells—but other than that, I did do it mostly for her.

I'm hormones with legs. So sue me.

Regardless, I downplay the whole episode now, but I'm sure all these feelings will come back to bite me in the ass later. Say, when I put my head down to sleep for the night. And isn't that when everything seems ten times worse?

There's a reason I perpetually suffer from insomnia.

"Alright. We're done." I announced, dropping the lifeless skin bag of organs and bones at my feet. Insomnia or not, I still got tired of marching around all day in deep, dark, dank, melodramatic caverns where eerie shadows are cast on the walls and strange things go bump in the night.

The previous plummet seemed to smack my baggage into this plane of reality, for he actually sat there and blinked a couple of times, registering my presence.

"Nice to see you're still alive," I drawled out, the words falling upon him like acid rain.

I then let myself drop into a heap opposite of my companion, allowing the recently obtained eyeballs to roll around aimlessly in my palm, which was bloodied and bruised and callused from all the fighting I had just done, both inside and outside the cavern.

"They were right, you are like ice."

I looked up from the balls in my hand (ha ha ha I'm the funniest thing this side of the afterlife) and arched an eyebrow in response. "Excuse me?"

"They said you would be like this."

The rodent was still sort of dazed, but progressively regaining more and more of his senses, which was a shame, because I could almost tolerate him when he was silent.

"And who's they?" I questioned. "Your royal board of mammals?"

"My friends," he spat. "I assume you know the meaning of the word."

I smirked, which was the closest I had come to a smile since...well...since I don't really remember when.

"Cute," I dripped sardonically. "The rat has an attitude."

My partner's eyes momentarily increased in size, making them even more out of proportion with his already out of proportion head.

"I am not a rat!"

I winced at the sudden decibel increase. I had to fight the urge to plug my fingers in my ears. Since when does anything with testicles talk this high?

"Alright, so you're not a rat," I muttered, scrunching up my ski slope nose and furrowing my brow. "So then what, exactly, are you?"

My newfound acquaintance eventually managed to pull himself up against the opposite wall, grimacing in the light of the ownerless eyeballs. I jiggled them around just for emphasis. I have no soul.

"I'm a mouse."

A mouse. Great. I'm stuck here with a frickin mouse.

"So I'm thinking you would have been better off as road kill, what about you?"

I feigned the question as my bitterness began to fester, just like I had predicted it would earlier that evening. It had finally dawned on me, with startling clarity, that I would probably die of starvation and that would just flat out suck.

The mouse chose to ignore my previous vitriolic comment, which now that I think about it, speaks volumes about his character and how his really was far superior to my own at the time. Of course, I would sooner let my balls get gangrene and chop them off than admit anything of the like at that current moment, so I wrote off his obliviousness as unintentional, which it was anything but, and continued to sit on the opposite side of the granite hallway and seethe.

"My name's Mickey," he offered.

I made eye contact momentarily and then quickly averted my line of vision to my shoelaces. They were really fun to fiddle with. Funny how I didn't realize that until right about now.

"Riku," I coughed out, only slightly embarrassed, which is an emotion I don't usually execute with grace. "I'm the one who nearly destroyed the universe." Good. We got that out of the way. I then plastered on a fake grin. "So what's your history, Mickey?"

"I'm a king."

"Yeah," I buffed. "I thought I caught that right before I slammed the door shut."

Mickey seemed to look at me skeptically for a moment.

"Ya know, most heroes are humble and grateful. You don't seem to strike me as the martyr type."

"Pifft. Are you high?" I expelled with subtle amusement. "I'm no hero."

"Yes, well, that much is obvious."

Oh, ouch. Pain.

It's funny watching something that would look more at home on an arcade prize rack than a blood strewn battlefield snip out conceits on par with your own. It may have been the voice or it may have been the face or it may have been his persona, but I didn't pin my new companion as someone actually capable of putting up a fight. I mean, the little snot face _does_ have the keyblade, I suppose. So he must be doing _something_ right. Only gods know what, because Jehovah already determined I wasn't deemed worthy, even before I went about on my merry wake of nonselective destruction. It made me wonder what nit wits like Sora and this rat did in their spare time that made them so...pious.

It's not like the kid was off building animal shelters and feeding the homeless. He was standing right next to me doing shots of whiskey that time we broke into my mom's liquor cabinet when she was off at work. Of course, I only convinced him to do such after swaying him to believe it was really Magic Juice that made you Happy, and that was only because I was dying to see what Sora acted like intoxicated. He makes for a real sloppy drunk, lemme tell ya. But that's besides the point, and probably not the best memory to try and prove my worth for the keyblade.

"Yeah, well, I always pictured kings as the determined and firm type. You pretty much come off as a wuss."

Yes. That is the height of my repertoire after failing at suicide. Stop laughing. It's better than you could do.

So we sat there in respective silence for the next couple minutes, me hashing and rehashing my former relationship with Kairi and the rat fiddling absent mindedly with his god damn tail. It didn't look right. Things that hold the ability to communicate should not have tails. They just shouldn't.

"We're going to get out of here," Mickey stated all at once, oh so very, very sure of himself. It was enough to make me involuntarily gag. I envied his confidence with every fiber in my albino body.

"You keep right on thinking that," I replied, figuring I might as well go along for the ride. But while we were at it, playing this colossal game of make believe, I should have tried for an alternate ending, say, a happily ever after and someone willing to mother my children.

"You should be happy you're not dead!" Mickey interjected forcefully, his giant ears wobbling from side to side as he did so. It was very reminiscent of the bobble heads Tidus kept on the dashboard of his father's truck.

"Oh but I will be."

Insert sardonic laughter here.

Mickey shot me a disapproving stare (tsk tsk) and abruptly declared, for all who cared to hear, and even for those who didn't, "Well, I'm going to bed!" He then turned his tiny midget body around and faced the wall in a flourish of black appendages and overgrown shoes.

"You do that."

So it was then and there that I decided I officially had become numb. A person can only take so much trauma—_real_ trauma, we're not talking about blinding the demon minions trying to suck out our souls—before they just give up and call it a day. Which was what I was currently doing.

Forget that you will never see Kairi again. Forget that you will never be given that god awful yet somewhat miraculous opportunity to utter the words 'I'm sorry.' Forget that your saw her visage for the last time less than twenty four hours ago. Forget that you will never get to tell her what she meant to you; what she symbolized; hope, redemption, and a future mother figure who wasn't involved in an intense romantic relationship with the bottle. Forget that you will never get to go down on one knee. Forget that you will never have children.

Forget it because it doesn't matter and you are now officially numb.

As if Mickey here wasn't a constant reminder of all that was screwed up in the universe. Talk about verification. The scum of the galaxy was going to starve to death with the most beloved and highly sought after king of the century. How's that for poetic justice?

"Ya know what?" Michael, or Mickey, called out over his shoulder.

I grunted something incoherent in response.

"I'm _glad_ you never got the kayblade."

I picked savagely at my shoelaces.

And I thought I had gone numb.

o-o-o-o

Author's Note

o-o-o-o

Hope you enjoyed it, Lisa. :)


	2. Chapter Two

o-o-o-o

Chapter Two

o-o-o-o

I don't do mornings.

And I can't get any blunter than that. Except for maybe: I'd rather maul my own head of than get up at six AM.

And my mom told me to go at it, too, once when she tried to wake me for school.

'Fine. Maul your own head off. See if I care. Let me know when you're finished.'

I think she was still bitter about the braces.

…It wasn't _my_ fault we didn't have dental insurance.

And so, as it goes, when I was asleep, I was almost able to trick myself into believing I was home again, happily dozing off in bed, halfway between sleep and some hazy awareness, content to dream of Kairi and sports cars and beer and everything else that keeps your average teenage male going.

But all this abruptly ended when I received a sharp kick in the side from some unknown source and found myself swinging blindly at invisible foes.

"That's enough moping!" a voice declared, echoes bouncing off the walls of the cavern. "Time to get up! Up and at 'em I say!"

…And is it wrong to be distraught that I'm not _dead_ yet?

Right now I was really wishing Michael had a rifle in the stead of a keyblade so I could kindly ask him to shoot me executioner's style in the back of the head; just pump my cranium full of lead and let my corpse rot in the aftermath. Just make it quick and make it painless. It beats dying of starvation, at any rate.

"I couldn't give a rat's ass what you have to say," I groggily replied, no pun intended.

"Mouse."

"Mouse ass. Excuse me. I stand corrected. I couldn't give a mouse's ass what you have to say, Michael."

"Mickey."

"…Whatever."

I began to stumble to my feet. I hated getting up but I had to take a leak, and wasn't really in the mood to void myself when I didn't exactly have a change of clothes.

"Don't tell me you've given up already," Michael/Mickey droned, watching my disheveled state try to rearrange itself hopelessly. I suppose, for a sugar addicted fiend like himself, the only alternative to painfully blatant optimism is that of suicidal brooding. Which, ya know, was exactly what was going on, but I would sooner eat my own weight in steaming turd than admit defeat in front of Michael.

"Please, for the love of all that is holy and sacred," I began, exasperated, hungry, and distraught, "stop wasting my planet's oxygen."

I busied myself behind the privacy of a conveniently placed rock and tried to avoid eye contact as I did my business. I can't talk and piss at the same time. I was never a good multi tasker, really, now that I think about it.

Michael's chin seemed to turn upward in the wake of my last remark.

"Ah, so this is your planet now?" he questioned, bemused grin gracing his features.

I didn't mean it like that, it was a force of habit. I had used that line countless times on Sora, who would, predictably, continue to waste the oxygen so he could keep blabbering on about whatever ridiculous topic had managed to catch his interest ten seconds beforehand.

"I guess that makes sense," Michael continued. "This is, after all, the home of darkness."

I growled out something incoherent and zipped my fly. So the rodent wanted to start something? Fine. But I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of a response.

It wasn't even a decent insult. And I don't waste decent comebacks on indecent insults.

I guess Michael had caught wind of my animalistic grunting, for the next line of wisdom he bestowed upon me was, "You really should stop snarling all the time. It makes you look like an animal."

"Hell, you _are_ an animal."

I couldn't resist.

The banter came to an abrupt halt after that. I momentarily wondered if I had succeeded in offending the mouse and found myself feeling an odd twang of guilt for doing so. Sarcasm flies off my lips like poison, and I don't always intend it to be venomous, but sometimes it just turns out that way. I decided quickly that I did not care if I had insulted Michael, because, well, he started it. So I was vindicated.

That's some real mature logic right there, folks.

I think I've been using that line since preschool.

'Butbutbut he started it!'

What can I say? It's a good line.

I guess I was so caught up in my childhood reminiscence that I had forgotten to take heed of where I was walking. And because we all know how monstrositous my feet are, I found myself becoming personally acquainted with the gravel in three seconds flat.

I never particularly enjoyed eating dirt, my last time doing so ended in a trip to the local hospital to get my stomach pumped because—well, whatddya know—mom had just so impeccably sprayed fertilizer all over the lawn and Wakka was unaware of that when he dared me to swallow the fistful of earth.

It made for good bragging rights, though.

This, however, did not.

I felt a sickening thud as I whacked my head against some nondescript rock, which I swear was probably plotting against me the entire night, in all of it's evil rockiness, and let out a lovely slew of mollifications as Michael came bounding over to me regardless of my less than stellar vernacular.

"…You alright there, pal?" he asked, barely audible, a small trace of worry seeping into his features.

"Do I look it?" My hand had already migrated to the warzone that was my hair in search of blood and skull fragments. Luckily, I only found the former.

"Not in particular," Michael replied, flopping over to me on his colossal feet—which were bigger than mine and that's saying something. "You're bleeding," he astutely noted.

I had to repress a nasty remark that was begging with my subconscious to come out.

I had never been a fan of blood. Which is strange, seeing as I took up temporary residency as a world class villain and all. But Heartless don't exactly bleed. And there's not clause in the 'official bad guy contract' that says you need to have a blood lust. Malificent did, and she sated it every other week, but I was perfectly content to keep to world domination and the restoration of Kairi. I didn't need the power trip that came with vanquishing a foe. It's enough for me to simply rule over them. And I can't rule over them if they're dead, now can I?

Regardless, Michael proceeded to prod and poke at my scalp in a thorough investigation of my newly acquired wound. "Well I'll be a monkey's uncle," he mused out loud. "You've got a lot of blood gushing out here. It's kinda like a waterfall."

And I had to smirk at that one. I wasn't expecting that comment, not from the likes of him. I mean, the whole monkey's uncle bit was ridiculous and strange and completely in character, but that waterfall line was pretty awkward. This guy was weird.

"Is it now?" I asked, blinking rapidly. Because that's what I do when I'm in pain. I blink. A lot. In very rapid succession. Almost to the point of an epileptic fit. Because I can't remember the last time I cried and I don't do the whole drama whore groaning for attention bit, so I find that blinking works just fine. I mean, I look stupid as hell, but at least I'm not being vocal about it.

Sora used to mock me into the ground for the actions I exhibited while in pain. He witnessed the feat once when we were off gallivanting around the island; Tidus, Sora, and I, a trio of bored twelve year olds just looking for something exciting to do because watching TV and eating onion rings can be amusing for only so long, when Tidus spotted a cocoanut located at some ungodly height on a lone palm tree situated at the end of a narrow precipice.

And we decided it would be of great intelligence to see which one of us could shimmy up there and get it first. Why? None of us actually liked cocoanut. But we did it because we could. And we were moronic and bored. And Tidus had run out of matches to play with.

Because my balls were too big for my boxers, I declared I was going to go first to show them how (and I quote) 'it's really done.' Which, in the end, resulted in me getting halfway up the tree, risking a glance southward, getting vertigo, plummeting straight back down to the ground, and consequently snapping my leg in two. It's the type of sound you don't forget. Tidus promptly lost his cookies all over the beach and Sora stood with eyes glazed like doughnuts, unsure of how to go about the current situation. Eventually Tidus regained enough composure to go out and get help, and that left me and the caffeine addict of the millennium alone under a palm tree with that one damn cocoanut waving above our heads, almost as if to mock us and say we were not worthy of its contents.

And in response to my injury, I could do nothing but blink.

And blink. And blink. And blink.

And just for good measure, blink some more.

I mean, I was perfectly placid otherwise, it was just my eyes that were darting around like ocular ping pong balls and my lids were moving to the point of tearing a muscle.

(Can you do that? Tear a muscle in your eye? Or face? Yes, that is just the kind of thing that would have kept Sora up at night. Which meant me, too. Because God knows that kid loved to have sleepovers, and I never much minded escaping from the open bar that is my home with its one permanent customer that is my mom, and his parents baked brownies and stuff, so I put up with his random blabber in the middle of the night. Perhaps this is why I never was able to get up for school in the morning.)

Sora was gaping like a goldfish.

"Riku," he said, a smirk slowly tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You totally look like a freak right now. You know that, right?"

"How could I possibly know that?" I asked through viciously clenched teeth. There was granite in my jaw and fire in my eyes. "I don't carry around a frickin' vanity mirror, ya know."

Sora seemed to ponder this predicament for a minute, because heaven forbid I miss out on witnessing myself having an ocular seizure.

"Hm. I bet Kairi has one!" he threw out merrily.

And I guess a lot of people would probably have been put off by his utter lack of sympathy. But it wasn't so much a lack of sympathy as it was a lack of awareness. At least that's how I see it. Sora's a moron. We all know this. He could strike up a conversation with solid brick wall, if necessary. Maybe even a coma patient. Possibly even the dead. And I didn't mind his antics all that much, he was just oblivious. And it was enough to take my mind off the pain. So, hell, what else mattered?

"We don't know where Kairi is, Sora."

"…I'm sure Wakka will find her."

"Wakka saw me fall?"

"Everyone did!" Sora exclaimed, thrusting a lanky appendage in the air. It reminded me of a chicken bone, all weak and scrawny. I could never understand how he managed to defeat Ansem, the galaxy's official bad ass, with such lanky extremities. Maybe the duck helped.

"It was kinda like a circus act," Sora pressed on, totally unaware, as usual. The corners of his mouth were at a very dangerously high height, thus he was plotting something. Thus I was really wishing we were closer to my house so I could send Sora on an errand to go and snag some of my mom's booze.

"Attention, attention please!"

Now, I don't know what initially inspired the kid to do this, but apparently he was overcome with this dire urge to reenact a ring master at the aforementioned circus and decided to puff out his chest and deepen his voice while doing so. "For the first time, in person, the one and only, Official Human Klutz!"

I internally cringed at the word vomit that was continuously dribbling from the endless black abyss that is his mouth.

"Sora, I'm not finding this funny."

"Yes you are," he retaliated, so sure of himself.

"No, Sora. No I'm not."

But he ignored me, as per usual. Went on blabbering about all the circus animals we could have in the big tent and who would be our resident tight rope walker, since Kairi was too busy studying and Selphie has the dexterity of a pregnant elephant.

…And I still can't believe I tried to kill him.

So that's when pain shot through me. Either I had accidentally moved my leg of Sora had somehow managed to run into it while on his rambling spree.

It must have been quite evident, for even the clueless Sora picked up on it, and he dove to the ground and said "Here, here, here," in one short breath. "Watch me blink. It'll be funny. Ready?"

I set my jaw firmer. It was all I was capable of doing.

I don't know if a person can really have the gift of blinking, but if there is such a quality, Sora definitely could not add it to his lacking itinerary. It was almost nauseating to see how pathetically he blinked. One eye would close before the other and sometimes his eyelid didn't even come all the way down. His cheeks twitched with uncertainty every time he attempted to perform my actions in succession and pretty soon his head was moving from side to side too. It was all so terribly helpless I jut had to laugh, regardless of my throbbing leg.

"I swear Sora, you have ADHD."

"Really?" he pondered. "Cool!" Pause. "What's that?"

"…Never mind. Hey, think if they take me to the hospital they'll shoot me up with morphine and stuff?"

"…Morphine? What's that? Is it a painkiller or something?"

Sometimes it shocked me how oblivious Sora managed to remain all throughout his childhood. How does a twelve year old not know about morphine?

"Yeah."

"Like…like Advil and stuff?"

"It's a little stronger than Advil, Sora…"

Pause.

"Well, does it taste good, at least?"

I chose to stop the conversation before I gave myself a migraine.

It was then Sora chose to expose a toothy grin.

"Hey, you're talking!" He then jabbed a finger in my face. I momentarily contemplated biting it off so he could share in my pain and I could make fun of whatever stupid actions his exhibited while wallowing in self pity. And then maybe they'd give him some opium, too, because while drunk Sora was amusing, drugged Sora would probably be a riot.

And that's when Kairi meandered over, eyes all sad and teary like, practically oozing sympathy out her very pores, inquiring as to what had happened and if any of us would like some cookies.

Sora than threw himself in front of her, as if to protect her virgin eyes from the horrors of stupid adolescent boys. "Oh, no, no, no. Kairi, trust me, you do not want to see this. It's real icky and stuff. Riku threw himself off a tree."

"I did not _throw_ myself," I cut in, desperate to maintain some dignity in the presence of Kairi. Even back then I still had an ego. "I fell. Get it right."

"Eh, whatever," Sora dismissed. Was I actually taking back burner? "At any rate, he's on the ground now, and it's really ugly. Ya see, his leg made this wicked awesome snapping noise when he fell," Sora continued, flailing his arms out all over the place like he was a windmill or something. That kid could never tell a story without over dramatic hand motions and cheap theatrics. "It was like lightening or something. CRA-AACK!"

"Ewww!" Kairi squealed, hands flying to her mouth like he was trying to repress vomit, which Tidus had so far been quite unsuccessful in. "Sora, stop! That's gross!"

"Really? I think it's kind of funny."

"That's because you're not the one in pain," I handed out.

"Oh. Yeah. Well. I guess that may have something to do with it."

Sometimes I swear that kid's IQ was smaller than Kairi's waist size. Which is practically in negative numbers as it is. So that's really saying something.

"Well, at least let me give him a hug," she said, twiggy arms outstretched in a physical invitation.

And I know what you're thinking. You're thinking preteens are way too young to know what love is. To even know _how_ to love (which it complete and utter turd, by the way, and you know it.) We may not know all the intricacies that make up the patchwork of marriage, but we can tell when there's electricity in the air. We still have hormones, ya know, and I over compensated for whatever Wakka seemed to lack in that arena. (Still do, in fact. He doesn't seem to realize there is life outside blitzball and girls just aren't that into running around in circles chasing some circular object around for days on end.) And even if I'm the tough, sarcastic, loner who thought he was too cool for the air he breathed, I have butterflies that live inside my stomach, too. Hell, we all do. I'm sure even Ansem had a couple butterflies at one point in his life. Like, maybe when he was contemplating whether or not to become a first class psycho and go on a merry rampage of nonselective destruction throughout the galaxy.

…And that had absolutely nothing to do with my previous tirade on love.

Regardless of whether or not you think twelve year olds are capable of such a feat (loving, that is, not taking over the world, though rumors have it there's this one planet with a boy emperor named Larsa who is coming pretty damn close) I knew then and there that I was pretty much head over heels for Kairi. And it wasn't lustful, either. Because, truth be told, she had nothing to lust _after_. The girl ain't voluptuous, I can tell you that much. She's a skin bag of organs and bones, but she's so…pure. And so kind. She radiates goodness and warmth and smells like summer and sandalwood and cherry blossoms. It's what euphoria would look like if euphoria had a face. Kairi could chase rainclouds away if she had half a mind to (and ostensibly some freakish control over the weather that I have only ever seen Malificent utilize.)

And—dammit—where was I?

So, yeah, maybe you think I'm crazy. Maybe you think I'm forgetting fourteen comes two years later. Maybe you're thinking I hit my head a little harder than I thought. But in the long run, none of it matters, because Sora took her away then just like he took her away now (only this time I _told_ him too, but I was kind of at a desperate lack of options.) Sora wrapped his lithe arm around her and told her the best thing to do was leave me alone. He then proceeded to walk her down the beach, leaving me with a dangling cocoanut, Tidus' wad of unpleasant vomit, and a completely shattered leg. Soon thereafter the resident doctor came onto the scene with the infamous Wakka in tow. I dunno if the little runty red head even said anything directly to me. I can recall his presence simply because there was a steady beat of 'ya ya ya' in the background. It was the only word he knew how to say.

The doctor was blabbering about something or other, you know what I'm talking about. Point to where it hurts, on a scale of one to ten, are you allergic to anything…

(Yes, I'm allergic to all painkillers except narcotics. And four milligrams of Dilaudid makes me sick but six work just fine.)

Truth be told, I wasn't exactly listening, even with the promise of drugs and the blissful haze that goes along with them. My painkiller was currently walking down the beach. Yes. That was my sedative. She was traipsing along the ocean with Sora. And all I could think about was 'I wish that were me.' I wanted to be the one to walk her down the beach. I wanted to be the one with my arm around her, even if it was in a kiddy sort of manner. But most of all, I wanted that stupid frickin' hug.

And thinking of all this, the childhood memories and my home and even Wakka's obscure dialect, made me long for Destiny Islands in a way I was unaware I was capable of. All of the sudden, I wanted my life back. I wanted to sit on the beach and do absolutely nothing—a past time I abhorred previously and insisted on complaining about whenever one of us couldn't think of something to do. I wanted to get tan again; I haven't seen the sun since forever and I scarcely remember what color it is. I wanted to work on that confounded raft the three of us were building, the promise of other worlds elusive and just beyond the horizon. I just wanted to go home. I wanted my life back. The one I gave up. _Willingly_.

I still don't know what I was thinking when I closed that door. Maybe it was some final act of redemption, my eternal apology for nearly killing everyone alive. Maybe I deserve this misery and maybe my convoluted reasoning was karma coming back to bite me in the ass. But then why was Michael here? Sure; he was retarded as hell but he wasn't evil. He wasn't in some training program to be the prince of darkness. He didn't wield a weapon called the Soul Eater. (Though, damn it, I miss that thing.)

And so I chose to lash out at an unsuspecting Michael, who had no idea what was going through my head at the current moment, and probably thought I had finally lost it and was suffering from severe brain damage in addition to almost loosing my heart to darkness. I think I almost took the rodent's face off. But I had to do something in response to the startling conclusion that I had, in fact, destroyed my own life.

Sora didn't do it.

I did.

But I did for her, didn't I? I went searching for her heart. I went away to try and bring her back.

But I'm the one who was left behind.

And that was nobody's choice but mine.

Michael sensed the tension (well, no really?) and seemed to back off, though not rashly. If anything, it almost looked as though he understood, on some simplistic semblance of a level, what it was I was currently going through. Which, if you ignore the fact that that is pretty much physically impossible, made for a good dramatic interlude, right?

"…You okay there, pal?"

What do you say to that? No, really, _what do you say to that_? 'Well, I nearly destroyed the world, so you tell me.' And what the hell was he going to answer with, anyway?

"Why are you being nice to me?" I finally questioned, slumped in the dirt with my head on my knees, the perfect picture of self defeat. I was praying fervently he wasn't going to pull a 'because that's what friends do' line Sora most undoubtedly would, that is, if Sora noticed something was wrong in the first place. Michael and I couldn't be classified as friends, we had only known each other for a day, and we weren't exactly getting along at that.

And besides, even if you do know someone for sixteen years of your life, what do you make of it? Sora considered me his best friend, and I tried to shove my Soul Eater up his ass.

The passage of time does not indicate the strength of the friendship.

Pity it took me almost losing my soul to see that.

"Because you look like you need it," Michael responded gently, voice actually not cracking for once.

I remained silent. I just wanted to be left alone.

Michael seemed to pick up on my bad vibes, and decided to let me rest in peace. I watched him curl up in the far corner, despite the fact he had just woken up (but what did it matter? It wasn't like we were aware of the time anyway. It could be midnight for all we knew) and watched as his breathing slowed to a steady rhythm that indicated sleep.

I needed to rest. The apocalypse was going on inside my skull, and you know damn well I could angst about that for the next five pages because—let's face it—I can pretty much angst about anything given enough time and alcohol, but Kairi seems more important by far and I would much rather have you pay attention to her as opposed to the fireworks display that was going on inside my head. And before you write me off as some unfortunate screw up, think about something for me, will you? Think about how _you_ would have handled it. I mean, really. Would you have honestly closed that door?

And so I laid myself down with the comforting reminder that Sora will never be normal, either. It's really the only fragment of sadistic happiness I can hold onto, and even though I both love him and hate him, I still find comfort in knowing he can never go back to the life he once led, either. He's got the keyblade now. He saved the universe. He can never go back to Destiny Islands. Things will never be what they once were, even if we were all to miraculously make it home somehow and nothing ever needed saving again. (And, hell, can you imagine how awkward that would be? The three of us; Kairi, Sora, and I, together again on an island like nothing ever happened even though we both like the same girl only I nearly tried to kill him over it and somehow ended up being the bad guy even though it's technically all her fault to begin with?)

And I shouldn't blame things on Kairi. Because she did nothing wrong except be herself, and since when was it a sin to be likeable?

I began to doze off on thoughts of Sora being revered to the point of immortality. He'll be placed on a pedestal so high he'll lose orbit with everything he once knew. The only thing is, he'll have Kairi by his side the entire time. And that fact alone makes him ten times better off than me.

o-o-o-o

Author's Notes

o-o-o-o

Oh my gosh, Vixen is back to her roots. Good, solid, emo-licious angst. With just a hint of snark and a healthy helping of sarcasm. Which makes up Riku. Thank you so much for reading! Hope I at least got one good smirk out of you.

And thank you so much for all the valuable input on my first resurrected chapter! It's so nice to be working on this again, and you guys make all my efforts worth it.

…And does anyone have any better ideas for the title? I had a reason for naming it Flaming Shadows, but that was five years ago, and now I seem to forget that reason. XD


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